


Boy with a Star

by wooyoungies



Series: Soon You'll Get Better [2]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Art Major Wooyoung, Blowjobs, Bottom Choi San, Boys Kissing, Christmas Time, English Major San, M/M, Slice of Life, Sunmi is Wooyoungs therapist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 00:02:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29550420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wooyoungies/pseuds/wooyoungies
Summary: It had taken Wooyoung a long time to grasp the concept of mean laughter as opposed to the silence he got at home. His world had gone from quiet, just the hum of the sleek refrigerator and silence that sat in the corners of his home, silence that hid behind his couch in crouches- to the blood rushing through his ears and shredding of delicate sun stained paper. Even the colors on his paper had been quiet when he was stroking the bold lines of two boys embracing one another.OrBefore Wooyoung met San, life was much different.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Series: Soon You'll Get Better [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2170992
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61





	Boy with a Star

**Author's Note:**

> HI omg, this was a long time coming. It's been over a year since Fireflies and Dandelions and I wanted to upload this on the anniversary but ya know- life got in the way. I suddenly got motivation, idk guys, I was just chilling in bed looking at my ceiling and thinking of the snow outside and next thing I know I'm cracking open my laptop. I missed Wooyoung and San!! For the new readers, I really recommend reading the first part in the series :) Also, Wooyoung deserved a back story because I feel like he didn't get much time to shine. So, for all the Wooyoungs out there, hope you find some peace in this.
> 
> Love, Lei

_What must it be like, to grow up that beautiful? With your hair falling into place like dominoes?_

  
  


Wooyoung hated the sky.

Maybe that was why he always had his head down painting. Dipping his fingers over translucent sheets, swirling thumbs into navy and charcoal pools, whispering his paint brushes over tides of jean rips and shores of canvases.

He was painting anything but the world above him, he didn’t want to know what would happen if he just ever so _slightly_ tilted his head upwards. 

He was thankful that San was a bit shorter than him so it made it easier to avoid the loom of clouds, heavy air, and whatever-else-is-up-there.

San never teased him for it, not that he would if he knew anyway, but Wooyoung digressed. San was much too good for that and he didn’t make fun of the way Wooyoung had eyes for the canvas beneath him. Though, he should have. 

“You should paint the stars.” San hummed one night, pulling his hoodie strings tight. Wooyoung watched as San fell back onto the grass and flicked his feet up towards the air thoughtfully like he was pedaling through the cosmos. Wooyoung only made a sound of neutral agreement and he added another streak of indigo to his jeans. His boyfriend sat up to look at the scene before him and raised an eyebrow as Wooyoung made another bold splash.

The dim streetlamp above them made a faint halo over San’s silver hair. Wooyoung liked his hair this color.

“Are you selling this pair?”

“No- I think I like them too much to give away.” 

San laughed. “I always thought you wore the same pair for a while.”

Wooyoung gasped dramatically. “They all had different themes, I can’t believe you didn’t notice my diverse artistry. I must perish-” he was cut off by a smack to his knee. 

“Insufferable.”

“Sleeping Venus, _Bal du moulin de la Galette_ , _Pollice Verso_. So much variety unseen due to mortal eyes.”

“Pretentious,” his boyfriend chided back comfortably.

“Perhaps you could take a dive into my favorite, _Virgil, The Aeneid_.”

Wooyoung made a gagging sound and he stuck his tongue out- tasting a bit of paint on the corner of his lips. When did that get there?

It fell back into a comfortable silence and his boyfriend kept his hand on Wooyoung’s knee as he stargazed. It was comforting and Wooyoung felt the nerves in his fingers ease. While art did calm him down considerably, it was like San knew when to let his touches linger, or when to replay his favorite song one more time while they lay intertwined at 2am. 

Their campus was quiet at night- well, early morning- and it seemed to blanket them both comfortably. It was kind of their thing to be awake during dead hours anyway. The hush over campus was the kind that made one stop, the kind that made one want to sit down and pause the universe. Sometimes Wooyoung wished he could reach up and use the tip of his calloused fingers and stop the continuous spin of their Earth. He imagined that the stars would still keep their lights and that the moon would rest from her hard work. At the moment, Wooyoung felt like the world was paused. 

The lull of cicadas and wind that felt heavy made Wooyoung take a deep breath and look over the denim.

“It’s 2am.”

Wooyoung only nodded.

“And,” San added.

“And?”

“You have class tomorrow.”

“So do you.”

“And,” San got up, brushing off his thighs and ass from sitting down on the ground- Wooyoung tried not to stare- “that is why I’m gonna go.”

Wooyoung pouted and San made a _tsk_ from his lips and he kissed Wooyoung softly on the head. “Try to get some sleep, mkay?”

“Yeah, yeah, says _you_.”

San gave a trademark soft smile and left Wooyoung to his thoughts and his paints… and the sky. He couldn’t forget the sky.

  
  
  


Once upon a time, before San, Wooyoung didn’t smile. Wooyoung was once told that life wasn’t fair and that he shouldn’t expect it to be so.

He thinks this makes sense because the sharp bristles of fists and bloody teeth that painted his gums vermillion make that point very clear.

 _“What did you expect?”_ That is what he asked himself when he was shoved down into the dirty paint water of the world and when he was slammed into the ceramic palette of lockers. His mother and father only looked the opposite way back up to their screens of business and more important things than paint and a broken watercolor boy.

Liking boys in Louisiana was not simple, nor easy as other places around the world made it seem. 

He hadn’t meant for anyone to see the painting, he hadn’t meant for the mean boys at school to rip it up to shreds right before his eyes. A time when Wooyoung had yet to understand that the cruelty of men had not waivered for the kind and that the world could not be paused with just a touch of a fingertip to the passing clouds. 

It had taken Wooyoung a long time to grasp the concept of mean laughter as opposed to the silence he got at home. His world had gone from quiet, just the hum of the sleek refrigerator and silence that sat in the corners of his home, silence that hid behind his couch in crouches- to the blood rushing through his ears and shredding of delicate sun stained paper. Even the colors on his paper had been quiet when he was stroking the bold lines of two boys embracing one another.

And as he watched loud boys laugh and twist their heels into his first love, he let himself sit in that feeling. It was much like when he let flowers dipped in tea and blues rest on sheets over night, letting the stars and incoming morning sun paint. Wooyoung let himself remember that feeling. He harnessed it in like pulling a dancing petal from the sky and swallowing it whole. He let it root, grow, and bloom within his throat to let flower spill from his words in a garden full of grace. 

On the walk home, Wooyoung looked up to the stars he loved to watch twirl at his window and he prayed.

  
  
  
  


Sometimes Wooyoung felt ridiculous for calling his life before San- well, the _Before San_. He wasn’t expecting to meet a supernova in the middle of winter in a stairwell. But, he supposes if anyone was going to fall in love in the middle of nowhere, it would be him. 

_“Why did you come back?”_

_“Do you want my honest answer?” Wooyoung asked wryly._

_The boy nodded._

_“I don’t know.”_

_“That is it?”_

_Wooyoug tossed San his scarf and he caught it in his hands, confusion spilling over his face. He let his thumbs grace over the threaded strands of royal blue and cream. He felt weird for finding San stroking his scarf endearing. He wondered that if he put it on after him, if it would be warm. If it was- Wooyoung wouldn’t mind keeping it on all winter just to harbor in the warmth and ghost of San’s fingertips._

_“I mean- yeah. Is that weird? A lot of people think I am, but I don’t care if I am being honest. I kinda care what you think, though.”_

_“No, I don’t think it’s weird.”_

_Wooyoung scooted towards the boy and he sat in front of San with his eyes open and honest. More than he had been in a while. Sometimes when he spoke he would just let the words fly out of his mouth and the entire time his brain would be static-_

_“I thought, what is there to lose if I come back the next night? Maybe this pretty boy will tell me to go away, but he seems too gentle to do that. So I am going to be careful not to make him anxious or uncomfortable because that’s weird. Then I saw you were here and I stayed just in case you wanted company. Not that you looked like you needed company.”_

That was probably the point where he knew he couldn’t have turned back even if he wanted. San had already had Wooyoung so enchanted, mesmerized with every sigh and mention of neon yellows. Wooyoung had hoped that it was just the initial excitement of something new, or someone, he should say, and that maybe he would grow tired and move on back to his silent life. But San was much like dipping into his favorite palette. Comfortable, easy to understand, and _home._

“Wooyoung?”

“Hi,” he whispered. 

Wooyoung had made it back from the studio and was trying to enter the living room as quietly as possible. San was curled up on the couch basking in the moonlight coming through the blinds and Wooyoung slipped in behind him. San only hummed and he turned around to face him. 

“You’re back early.”

He glanced to the clock- 10pm. Outside, the snow was peeking through the blinds shyly and falling in heavy blankets on the benches and leaves. He imagined going outside and tucking himself in, the street lamp as his company in the cold.

“I wanted to see you.”

“We live together.” San sounded exasperated but Wooyoung knew that there was fondness laced in the syllables of his words and teeth. Wooyoung only hushed him with a kiss to the cheek and he nuzzled his face into San’s warm neck, letting the pads of his fingers rest on his arms. 

“Painting?”

“Almost finished,” Wooyoung answered softly. He liked to relish in the quiet, even if night only made him more uncomfortable. Wooyoung had grown to like noise, the sun, and anything colorful. He was so afraid of his world becoming even more dull, he longed for the colors he saw the world in as a child.

“When you finish it I will personally feed your professor to the wolves.”

“I thought we were gonna put his family in the chili and feed it to him?” Wooyoung responded.

San lifted a finger in the air to the dark of the room, moon touching knuckles. 

“While I like the idea of casual cannibalism, I think we should rely on quicker tactics.”

“No-go-” Wooyoung added, “-I am in it for the long run. I think it makes it that much _sweeter_.”

San pulled back from Wooyoung’s spider monkey grip on his body- 

“You’re insane.”

“Back in my day it was called creativity.”

“Back in your day?!” San blew on Wooyoung’s face to annoy him and tried to flick his forehead. Wooyoung caught his finger swiftly.

“This is where I come out-”

“-you’re already out-”

“-as a vampire.”

San pursed his lips. 

“Not impressed.”

He only tried to bite at San’s finger but it was quickly dodged and retaliated with another blow to the head. Death by finger flick.

“ _Anyway_ ,” San continued. “I think wolves are quicker; it is less to clean up and it can be blamed on some freak hiking accident.”

“Boo.”

“Don’t _boo_ me!” 

Wooyoung flailed his arms dramatically and turned the opposite way- secretly hoping that San would take the bait and snuggle up to him. San only bit his shoulder for payback and Wooyoung had to shake him off. 

“Don’t touch me, we just had our first fight…”

San snorted and playfully threw his body over Wooyoung’s, giggling with glee and he pressed his nose to his. 

“How will I ever make it up to you that I prefer to feed your professor to wolves than psychologically torture him?”

“I know a _few_ ways…”

“Don’t be gross, Wooyoung,” San says this with disdain but his grimace turns into a sly smile and his arm sneaks down to his waist. He then pecks a small kiss on the column of his throat and trails his lips up to Wooyoung’s. Wooyoung lets himself settle into the feeling and he sighs, threading his fingers into the silk of San’s hair.

“You smell like paint,” San mumbles into the soft kiss and he bites gently on the full of his bottom lip.

“You smell.” Wooyoung retorts, but San knows that he is only joking because of how weak Wooyoung’s voice sounds. It only takes around seven seconds for Wooyoung to become unraveled under San’s touch. His boyfriend laughs and he pulls his hands up to either side of his face, smooshing his cheeks together like he would bunch a cat’s face between his palms.

“How much do you love me?” San asks, his voice was soft.

Wooyoung lets his eyes drift open slowly and he blinks, confusion littered in lashes.

“A lot, why?” 

San only shakes his head with a gentle smile and he presses another kiss to his lips. He let himself fall into it, as cliche as it sounds. Wooyoung found himself understanding why cliches are called cliches- the feeling so universal and common that it had found a name among the billions of people inhabiting the world, had finally found itself into Wooyoung’s own life. 

Wooyoung thinks about how everything led to San, and how San had no problem falling for him. For him, he took the leap into Wooyoung’s arms with little caution and hesitation, a ballerina spin into the junction of his arm and shoulder. 

Falling in love was… was, something he never imagined doing. It wasn’t that he didn’t think he would, he just didn’t think anyone would _want_ to fall in love with him. He supposes that a lot of people feel like that- another cliche, “not worthy of love” so he tries to brush those past thoughts away. In simple terms, if Wooyoung had to break it down to an understanding with respect to fake loving himself, he would just say that he is… complicated. But it _was_ him that went after San, right?

San brought him out of his thoughts- a quick bite to his neck.

“O _w_ , what the hell?”

“You were in Wooyoung land and we were in the middle of something,” San pouted.

“And that would be…?”

San narrowed his eyes, “Oh you know,” he paused, “hopefully it escalating into you putting your hands down my pants.”

“S _an_ -” Wooyoung allowed himself to blush and he bashfully pushed his chest away from where they were stuck together, “-you’re so unashamed.”

“How can you act like that like you weren’t balls deep in me last ni-”

Wooyoung shut him up with a pressing kiss and he felt his boyfriend smile into it. _Bastard_. He got what he wanted- and he knew how. 

San let his hand trail up Wooyoung’s face and stroke his jaw, all while slowing the kiss that Wooyoung had started, down.

“Can we go slow tonight?”

Wooyoung furrowed his brow, “of course, baby.”

This seemed to please San and he let himself sigh with content, kissing him even softer if that was possible. It was all slow lips that were muted by the soft snowfall outside and the faint tinkle of mouths pulling apart. San let his tongue gently fall out, letting it lick up into Wooyoung’s mouth with ease and grace. Wooyoung pressed the pads of his fingers into his boyfriend’s ribcage and let himself deepen their kiss. San’s skin was so warm and _soft_ , and he thinks back to the urge of wanting to tuck himself into the snow and he thinks that if San were the snowfall, he wouldn’t mind at all. San was also making these sounds that were going straight to Wooyoung’s cock.

“I haven’t even touched you yet,” Wooyoung laughs, breathlessly. San only huffed and sucked on his bottom lip playfully (and needily, as well) and he also slid a hand up Wooyoung’s shirt in return. He pinched his nipple and Wooyoung jumped back but was caught in his arms.

“Rude.”

“You’re making fun of me-” Wooyoung lifted himself over San, flipping him onto his back in one swift roll of motion. 

He squawked and Wooyoung let his face drift over his, incredibly close and intimately. “I would never,” Wooyoung cooed. 

San knew it was mocking, but never in a wicked way. It was more of a, _I am in charge and what are you going to do about it_ way. San gulped, his cock stirring in his pants. He was already semi-hard but seeing Wooyoung get like _this_ only quickened the process.

“You’re despicable,” San murmured this as he shyly looked away from Wooyoung’s eyes, which were darker than normal with pupils blown out. He looked surface level unaffected, but with his own hard-on pressing into San’s stomach he thinks- well, there’s nothing better than this. Wooyoung only smiles and he gently rests himself on top of San, leg hiked up to San’s waist. Now, their cocks were touching and pressed through the thin fabric of their pants. Well, San was only wearing his boxers. 

Wooyoung tries not to roll his hips down onto his boyfriend’s and he continues. “You want slow, okay. I’ll make it as slow as you want.”

San made a weak sound, and Wooyoung shook his head. Their noses were touching and San was looking up at him with something that made Wooyoung’s stomach want to throw up the butterflies.

It was _love_. He knew they already were, but he couldn’t help but still feel the simmer of excitement the first time San looked at him like that. Pretty brown eyes made for ruining.

“How slow?” 

Their faces are now so close that their lips were brushing as they spoke and Wooyoung wondered if San’s freckles could take flight into the snowy air.

“Like this.” Wooyoung proved his statement true by grinding down onto San’s lap, their cocks giving the delicious release that they had both been wanting, no, _craving_.

“Oh fuck,” San gasped. 

Wooyoung only cocked his head to the side with amusement, “that sensitive already?”

“Shut up.”

Wooyoung made a _tsk_ sound between his lips and teeth and took the pressure off San. San whined with loss and he looked up at Wooyoung with the protest on his tongue, but it was quickly miffed by Wooyoung taking off his hoodie. 

“Put it on.”

It was now San who tilted his head to the side but it was not with amusement, more with a question. “Because..?” 

Wooyoung smiled and San’s stomach twisted, “Because silly,” Wooyoung unbuttoned his paint splattered jeans, “I am gonna fuck you in it.”

Wooyoung smiled angelically, the smile that gathered the praise of others and got him out of trouble. He wanted to wreck San in just his own hoodie, in his own clothes. The mental image of the sweater bunched around the planes of his hips with his cock head smearing precum onto the cloth made a strike of heat course down to his own dick. He also couldn’t get the image of San’s hands swallowed by the sleeves as he held his face crying as Wooyoung split him open. 

“Oh fuck.”

“Is that the only phrase you know?” Wooyoung mused, but it was gentle. Anyway, Wooyoung was going to tell San his imagery.

“M’ gonna fuck you and watch your cock get messy all over my hoodie and I can’t wait to watch you cry as my sleeves cover your hands and eyes.” San only let out a dry sob and he grabbed at Wooyoung’s shoulders trying to bring him in for a kiss. Wooyoung denied him (painfully so, but he had to get out what he wanted to say) and he continued as San gasped. 

“And when I wreck you in it, I will wear it the next day knowing exactly what I did to you.”

“ _Wooyoung_.”

“Yes?” Wooyoung asked with a smile, his teeth showing.

“Please?” was all San said, his eyes shining and Wooyoung supposes that he granted his wish, right?

“Alright.”

San slipped off his own shirt and let the hoodie fall over his bare skin, the sleeves swallowing his hands whole- just like he, Wooyoung, had imagined. 

“Perfect.”

Wooyoung slid off San’s boxers to reveal a rosy pink cock head that was already dripping. “My goodness,” Wooyoung said with eyes and eyebrows raised.

“Sh-”

“-ut up, yeah, I know.” Wooyoung ended his interruption with him shimming down to his cock and letting his kiss pepper the top. San squirmed as Wooyoung slid the hoodie up halfway over his stomach, kissing him above his belly button, then below. Letting his tongue come out, he let it follow his mouth and path as he leveled back down to the matter at hand. San whimpered.

Slowly, just like San asked, Wooyoung took him in his mouth. (Now, Wooyoung understands that some people don’t like giving head, but thank God he and San loved it as their life depended on it. It was probably their favorite thing to do when they had time. Besides kissing and reading together anyway.)

Wooyoung hollowed out his cheeks and let spit roll down the shaft to make the glide easier and wetter. He and San really, really, enjoyed spit. He watched as spit went past his shaft and rolled over to the insides of his thighs- dripping down onto the couch.

“Enough spit?” San asked sarcastically.

Wooyoung pulled off San’s cock with swiftness laced in his words- “There have been worse crimes committed on this couch. And besides, you like it.” San had the decency to blush in terms of thinking about the crimes and horrors committed on the stupidly small coffee-colored sofa. 

“Right,” Wooyoung affirmed with content. He got back to working San up, leaving the head of his cock alone.

A groan from above only edged him on, letting his palms slide over thighs and to somewhere _else_. With a quick glance up, he found San already watching him- eyes shy.

“Having fun watching?”

“Mhm.”

He surfaced back up to catch San’s lips with his own and he let himself linger there but his hands got back to work, working him open.

“Lube?” San asked breathlessly as Wooyoung traced him carefully, prodding gently.

“You know it,” he replied, pulling a tiny packet from the back pocket of his jeans on the floor.

San eyed him, narrowing in, “did you by chance, plan this?”

“Nooooo….” he trailed, laughing.

San rolled his eyes. 

“Enough. Just fuck me already.”

“What happened to slow?”

Wooyoung asks this, grin creeping up on the sides of his lips, fingering San open now with the slick liquid. His fingers split apart, taking time to curl in a slow upwards motion, eyes flicking up occasionally to check on him.

“ _Bastard-_ ”

“-mhm. Yes, tell me how horrible I am to finger you open like this. How _horrible_ I am to make you feel like this.”

San flushed and he brought his knees together, but Wooyoung made a _tut_ with his tongue between his teeth and he spread his legs apart with his free hand. Wooyoung’s palm slid up the back of San’s thigh, pressing his knee to his chest, revealing more of the boy beneath him. He pressed a gentle kiss the crook of his knee.

“So sweet Wooyoungie…”

Wooyoung let his lashes flutter across the skin of his thigh and nipped once more, hearing San whimper from above. 

“You’re taking _forever_ , wh-”

His boyfriend’s complaints were quickly cut off when Wooyoung flicked the pad of his finger across his prostate and an absolute high pitched cry came from his lips.

“Oh _fuck_ \- Wooyoung- _baby_ , fuck.”

Wooyoung knew he himself was hard, he could feel it uncomfortably straining and twitching with every movement San had done. He didn’t know when everything San did became so enthralling and promising but he figures that he shouldn’t really question anything at this point.

San’s hands came down to grab Wooyoung’s wrist and he writhed, cushions dipping under the motions. Wooyoung giggled and swatted San’s hand away.

“Hands up.”

“ _No_ ,” San bit back playfully- and breathlessly.

He shut him up swiftly, his eyes blinking rapidly when he felt Wooyoung’s hands pinning his wrists above his head. He pouted.

“But I wanna touch you, Woo.”

“But I’m touching you.”

“Not fair.”

Wooyoung pressed a kiss to his wrist, lashes fluttering and lips wet.

“Life isn’t fair. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Yeah, yeah, get back to it.”

San kept his hands above his head dutifully and shifted his upwards as Wooyoung went back to work- like San asked, he shall receive.

The silence of the room was comfortable as the snow had muted the sounds from outside and kept the room padded with just the soft moans and occasional whispers between the two in the living room. San was still hard, leaking come over the edge of the hoodie and Wooyoung noted this with content. A bit of smugness, too.

“You ready?” Wooyoung asked, pulling San’s hands back down, intertwining them. He was lined up against his hole, hips twitching to slam forward.

“No need to ask.”

“I always ask.”

San grabbed Wooyoung by the shoulder and roughly pulled him back down, lips crashing together, but not moving.

“Fuck me,” San said in a throaty whisper, then pausing to add-, “please.”

“As you wish.”

“Don’t quote _The Princess Bride_ as you’re about to rail me.”

“As you wish.”

Wooyoung’s cock stretched him open, slowly, bottoming out. San mewled at the feeling and his chest heaved upward as his body tried to adjust. Wooyoung’s cock head had only caught on his hole with little resistance.

Their hands were still intertwined and his thumb brushed the other’s, resting on the freckle that decorated his knuckle. Wooyoung wanted to kiss it. So he did.

He took it as time to move forward, and his thrust was calculated in an upwards motion, moving San’s body towards the armrest.

“Oh my-”

“Mhm.”

San’s head lolled to the side and he bit his lip at the feeling, hips circling to get him moving faster. Although, Wooyoung had a promise to upkeep.

“Just enjoy it, baby.”

“I am-” San huffed, “you just feel _so_ good.”

San giggled at the feeling of Wooyoung’s lips on his neck and he let his mouth trail up and graze over the lump in his throat. He kissed at his jaw with little nips and his boyfriend angled his head down to catch his lips with swiftness. Their kiss was languid, slow, much like the process of Wooyoung painting.

If he could Wooyoung would paint San, but he didn’t even know where to start. Does he start with the freckles? Does he start with the lithe and strung muscles of his flowered legs and branched fingers? Or, does he start with eyes that remind him of fireflies and dandelions?

There were so many options. But so little time, if he really thought about it.

His thrusts were now speeding up, but making sure that it wasn’t the usual quick slams that they both wanted and got off to- no, it was the slow burn and stretch that made toes and fingers curl.

He could tell San was close with his whimpers now sounded like sobs and his cock bobbed angrily with injust of not being touched.

“Let me touch myself please _please please_ -”

“Okay.”

San sighed and smiled, letting his wrist wriggle out of his hold and glide down to his neglected cock that was weeping over his hoodie. His content was cut short when Wooyoung ripped his hand away and pinned it back by his ear.

“What th-”

“Kidding. I get to make you come this time.”

San was now sobbing at this point and he gasped into his mouth, hips stuttering. Wooyoung’s thrust was particularly slow but _hard_ and San’s head hit the back of the armrest, head thudding with a dull _whump_.

“You’re s-s-so mean,” he cried, tears falling gracefully down the length of his cheeks and throat. It reminded Wooyoung of Alexandre Cabanel’s _Fallen Angel_ , gentle resentment and fury curving into his eyes. A fury that only love would seem to understand.

“You love me,” Wooyoung stated, rolling his hips down and trapping his cock between his abdomen and the rough material of the hoodie.

“I do. So much. _So much_ , baby.”

They both groaned into each other’s mouth, spit pooling around their lips and messily dripping down edges. His boyfriend hummed into the kiss and he let him know he was close with a soft whisper into his ear.

“Me too.”

“Go ahead and come, Wooyoung. I‘wanna feel you, please.”

He came into San, vision black and gut pulling tightly, a whimper now falling from his lips as San pulled him even closer (if that was even possible at this point) and he rolled his own hips upward onto his cock and used Wooyoung’s neck as leverage. San fucked himself on Wooyoung, head thrown back, throat bare and gently coated with sweat. He came soon after, stuttering moans high in his ear with a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach.

The room was silent as they both caught their breath, chests heaving up and sweaty hands now sticky and uncomfortable as their sex high drifted off into the room.

“Ow,” San said with a muffled voice into his shoulder.

“I can’t move. ‘M hips hurt.”

“Old man.”

“Old man that is currently keeping come stuffed inside of you.”

San pulled back and glanced down- “Fuck.”

“This would make an interesting scene if we try to navigate without it spilling out onto the couch.”

“Alien… number seven?”

“There are sevenAlien movies?”

“The plot was lost somewhere, I don’t know at this point.”

“Right.”

  
  
  
  
  


Wooyoung didn’t like to depend on people.

Sometimes, he envied San’s independence and way with words. Wooyoung was never good with words and he was never good with being alone. While he was always alone when he was younger it didn’t mean that he was necessarily _okay_ with it.

San seemed to like the solitude, the silence of the stairwell they met in, content with Wooyoung’s company but not reliant on it.

Not that Wooyoung hated him for it- but he understood that San would have been okay if he hadn’t come back after the first night. 

He once told San this and he looked at him with horror.

_“Wooyoung that is horrible! I wouldn’t have been okay.”_

_“I think you would have… you didn’t know me and you didn’t necessarily need me. You know?”_

_San shook his head, putting down his pen and kicking his shin with a line between his brows._

_“There is a big difference between not needing you and not missing you. I missed you after the first night even though I didn’t even know you- you just kind of left this… this impression on me. I missed you. It was embarrassing that I missed you so early on- I mean, it’s kind of freaky right? It was like my body knew.”_

_He paused._

_“Well, maybe my mind. My body doesn’t really do much.”_

_Wooyoung felt himself weigh San’s words. They made sense._

_He shifted uncomfortably in the library seat, pulling his scarf tighter around his face._

_“I appreciate that. I don’t want you to think I was looking for validation-”_

_“-Never. I would never think that you were trying to get something out of me. I did miss you.”_

_“You missed me and I needed you. I guess that makes us even.”_

_San smiled into his coffee, twirling the page of his book between soft and long fingers._

_“It does. But now, I do need you. I think it worked out for us. Don’t you think?”_

He supposes that he could _live_ without San, as the world didn’t stop spinning for anyone. This much he knew. Wooyoung was well accustomed to heartache and the pain of those leaving, but it didn’t mean that he didn’t envy the continuous world. If it was up to him, he would have paused a long time ago. 

That was the sick, evil, stupid, twisted, brambling thing about life- it kicked everyone on their ass. He couldn’t just _stop_ bad things from happening to good people and he couldn’t ask the world to. 

But, for all the horrors and evil that had splashed its way onto his canvas, there were good times that painted right over it. Kind of like filling up a pail with bright red paint and dumping it over someone. They would find it in creases of their nails and in pores of their skin for days, but it would be the reminder of what had happened. 

Every artist likes to find paint under their nails.

  
  
  
  
  


“You haven’t come out to your parents yet?”

San looked at Wooyoung with wide eyes, hand frozen on his own paintbrush that Wooyoung had forced into his hand. Wooyoung glanced over at San’s canvas- he cringed at the mess of colors and random lines. He supposes some would call it… abstract. 

Or something like that-

San really didn’t have a single lick of artistry in his body.

San defensively moved his stand away once he noticed Wooyoung judging from his tiny corner, eyes narrowed in on him.

“Judgemental asshole. Not everyone can paint like Leonardo DiCaprio.”

“It’s da Vinci.”

“ _Whatever_. Not the point.”

“They’re both hot,” Wooyoung added, tipping his paintbrush in San’s direction, like he was tipping a hat.

“The point is that you haven’t come out to your parents!”

Wooyoung hummed and sat back to observe his painting. He wasn’t sure how to tell San that not everyone had that kind of reality or privilege. Wooyoung didn’t even know his parents’ stance on sexuality- it wasn’t like they chatted a storm up with him. The most he got from them was when they said bye three years ago when he left for college.

“They are not exactly… the kindest of people.”

“But you’re kind?” San replied, head tilted with confusion.

Wooyoung bitterly added a minor detail, dabbing a small green dot onto the plants of his painting. It didn’t do much but Wooyoung could see the difference. San peered close and squinted- obviously not seeing the difference.

“Just because you think I am kind doesn’t mean that my parents are. They’re rather- um, well, indifferent.”

“Then what’s the harm in coming out to indifferent people?”

_I don’t know._

“Because I don’t want to.”

San seemed to catch on.

“Alright. That makes sense.” 

He smiled at Wooyoung and dabbed some paint onto the tip of his nose, then swooping down to kiss him softly.

  
  
  
  
  


Here was the issue- not everyone can just come out. 

And it wouldn’t _matter_ if he did or not, because he didn’t owe them anything and he wasn’t ready. There seemed to be a pattern in everything he consumed and saw. Being, that someone just _had_ to tell everyone their business. It wasn’t anyone’s business and it especially wasn’t his parents. 

Wooyoung didn’t have to come out to be happy and he didn’t have to come out just to be with San.

“It’s simple.”

His therapist raised her eyebrows.

“You seemed to simplify things quite a lot, Wooyoung.”

He shrugged.

“It’s easy. Don’t you think people complicate things all the time? Everyone is always bitching and moaning about _everything_ and all these- all these, issues… when they could just- I dunno- relax.”

Sunmi nodded, tapping her foot slowly, crossing her arms over each other. She seemed to be weighing what she was going to say next. Her eyes met his and she shrugged back to match him.

“There is truth in what you say. Although, maybe people complicate things because it’s all they know how to do. Have you ever thought that not everyone deals with shit the same way you do? I mean, look at your boyfriend San. He is a great thinker, analyzer, heavy on detail and what matters to him.”

“He is- quite a bit.”

“Do you resent him for that?”

Wooyoung shook his head violently, “God, _no_ , I just think he has a beautiful way of looking at the world.”

Her lips turned downward. “And you don’t?”

“I’m not good with words like San.”

“But you’re good at art.”

Wooyoung paused. He didn’t know what to do with that information. He let himself sit in her words, let himself simmer in what she was saying. His therapist always knew a way to get him to _think_ and dunno- ponder. Like it was her job or something.

_God, how pretentious._

“Yeah- I- I guess.”

“You guess?” she prodded, raising a perfect brow.

Curse this damn woman.

“Okay, yes. I _am_.”

She smiled and leaned back into her chair with her arms wide.

“See, I got you to admit something nice about yourself! You said it couldn’t be done.”

“I am going to paint you but I’m going to make it ugly. Then, I’m going to give it to you as a birthday present and you’re going to have to say that it’s nice. Because you’re obligated.”

“I like this alternative better, as opposed to what you were going to do to your professor’s family with the chili.”

He eyed Sunmi.

“Get over it, I’m funny.”

“You’re annoying.”

“But useful,” she added. Then she looked down at her iPad, looking over her notes thoughtfully. It was silent as he counted the tiles above him, feet knocking together and fingers itching at the paint splatters on his jeans. It was comfortable as she worked on what she was going to say next. Wooyoung really did like her.

Sunmi sighed and pressed her hands together.

“I think you’re right. You’re not obligated to come out to your parents. I don’t think anyone is obligated to, actually. Some feel the need, some don’t, either is perfectly fine. I’m glad that you have created boundaries for yourself and your parents, Wooyoung. It’s hard to do that- it’s hard to create lines with people that drew them first. Although, you’re an artist, so of course you knew how to create a masterpiece out of it.”

He hummed and kicked the toes of his shoes together, thinking.

“When the lines are so strict and rigid I panic-”

He wasn’t sure what he was talking about anymore but he let himself continue.

“-and I think, ‘there is no way I can make anything out of this and then somehow, I do. It’s not what I want, and it’s not my favorite of paintings or drawings, nor is my lineart the way I want. But, I feel like I am okay with it. I am okay with things not going my way because they never have and they have never once paused the world for me- that’s _okay_.” 

“What do you mean by pausing the world?”

He focused on Sunmi’s fingernails that were painted a deep, shiny black.

“It doesn’t stop for anyone. It doesn’t ask for forgiveness when people die, when people suffer, when your painting gets thrown in a puddle by a couple of mean boys. Although, it also doesn’t stop when it gives you beautiful things. It makes me feel like a child. It kicks me to the ground and I’m out here chewing dirt but then it gives me a potted plant to spit the dirt into. You know what I mean?”

“I’m following,” Sunmi replied. Her eyes were kind.

“It’s all just so _exhausting_. I want to stop at the beautiful moments and let them stay like that forever. I envy paintings for that. I really, really, do. They get to live in their scene forever.”

He finished his verbal essay and huffed, throwing his hands up in the air.

“God, I _hate_ it.”

Sunmi leaned forward, elbows resting on the soft denim on her knees, and she lifted her finger to her lips.

“May I pose the idea, well, no, the thought, that your life is one big painting?”

Wooyoung titled his head. 

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, your life is still being painted. You are in a painting, you’re in a process. Whether that process is drawing the lines, layering the colors for shading, or drying it out on the rack- you’re still in the motion of being created. There are still so many paintings and sections of your life to be created and drawn that it’s not even over yet. Why rush? Why slow down?”

And yeah, _okay_ , Sunmi had a point. A wonderful, stupid, correct, and dumb point.

He understands that he really isn’t in a painting but he gets the point or the gist some say. He gets it alright. It’s hard.

“I can see your wheels turning.”

“There’s not much going on up here don’t be fooled.”

Sunmi laughed. 

“It’s always fun to see what you’re going to say next.”

“I’m giving your painting a big fucking wart on your forehead.”

  
  
  
  
  


Sunmi loved her painting.

Wooyoung had bashfully given it to her on her birthday, cheeks aflame and heart pounding. He felt like a stupid little boy but she knew that Wooyoung just had a hard time using his words. He was much better at expressing himself through his work.

Her hair was a deep soot and falling over her shoulders into a golden-hued pond that reflected sun spots over her skin- her hands were reaching for the moon. Wooyoung had used all of the colors he felt represented her- cerulean, rose, scarlet, sage, and aureate.

Her eyes were dusted with tears threatening to spill out.

“You didn’t give me a wart.” 

“Congratulations. Check your fridge for the chili I made you.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


Wooyoung and San were back on the ferris wheel.

Downtown Louisiana was winking below them, their Victorian faubourg’s and Vieux Carré were littered with lanterns that looked like a folly of fireflies. San seemed to be obsessed with the city square and sites that it held, as he was always begging to come down here when Christmas arrived. Not that Wooyoung minded- in fact, he made him a bit melancholy.

_Ribbons of crimson and royal blue are strewn across threes and corridor chandeliers that spun in the winter, twinkling fairy lights were wrapped around thick branches, sprinkled around the eyebrows arches of windows, and the columns of staggering buildings flashed in rainbow._

_Something about Christmas felt magical and even without the snow, he felt like he could still enjoy himself in the willows and crisp air._

_“Do you like Christmas?” San asked Wooyoung, who was ogling at the lanterns strung up across buildings in catty-corner structure, zigzagging and drooping. Wooyoung touched a glass window in the area downtown and his scarf was covering his pink mouth._

_“Mmph,” he replied, still looking up at all of the pretty lights that filled the city. He spun in a mini circle and pointed at the ferris wheel that had kaleidoscopic beams flashing up and down the rails and seated cases._

_Wooyoung pulled his scarf down from his mouth._

_“Can we go ride it?”_

They were high in the sky now-

_“I will hold your hand the entire time,” San said_

He kept his promise from before and he was still holding his hand as they pointed at the scenery below. San had mentioned that he wanted him to see Baton Rouge from the top of the world- Wooyoung giggled at his childlike words.

“What? It is from the top of the world! We are so high!”

They laughed loudly and San was giggling into his neck as they crept even higher, falling victim to the wind blowing their hair and scarves. Wooyoung didn’t care that his hands were numb and he didn’t care that San’s legs were thrown over his own. Because, if his life was a painting, he thinks this would be one of his favorites.

“Do you remember last time?” San asked as they were frozen on top of the world.

“I remember.” Wooyoung smiled, looking out across the expanse of their city, flittering snow kissing their cheeks and knuckles.

Wooyoung reminisced, “I also remember being scared to ride it but _someone_ managed to persuade me with the promise of hand holding and cinnamon sticks.”

“And look at us now- balls deep in each other and in love.”

“Always the romantic, San.”

Their silence was comfortable (as always) and San leaned over to kiss his cheek.

“You’re a boy with a star.”

Wooyoung pulled back, amused.

“Meaning?”

San bashfully looked away, eyes fluttering over Baton Rouge and lanterns that beamed up into the sky. Wooyoung followed his eyes upwards and was shocked to see that he could see the stars. Stars that were usually dimmed by all the lights of the city and people that live within- always burning a little too bright for the world to catch up.

“I mean- I dunno, you always hold everything so precious to you. You always hold everything with such care and you paint with such care and you look at everyone with such- _care_. That when I think of you I think of fireflies and dandelions that drift into the sky. I think of stars that shine so brightly and prettily. You never look up, ever.”

“San-”

“-and don’t think I don’t notice. I do. I notice everything you do, Wooyoung. How can I not? I always wondered why you never looked up and always looked down at the ground at your paintings. Have you ever painted the sky?”

“No.”

“Why?”

_Wooyoung hated the sky._

_Maybe that was why he always had his head down painting. Dipping his fingers over translucent sheets, swirling thumbs into navy and charcoal pools, whispering his paintbrushes over tides of jean rips and shores of canvases. He was painting anything but the world above him, he didn’t want to know what would happen if he just ever so slightly tilted his head upwards._

They were getting higher now, stars close to their fingertips.

_It had taken Wooyoung a long time to grasp the concept of mean laughter as opposed to the silence he got at home. His world had gone from quiet, just the hum of the sleek refrigerator and silence that sat in the corners of his home, silence that hid behind his couch in crouches- to the blood rushing through his ears and shredding of delicate sun stained paper. Even the colors on his paper had been quiet when he was stroking the bold lines of two boys embracing one another._

_And as he watched loud boys laugh and twist their heels into his first love, he let himself sit in that feeling. It was much like when he let flowers dipped in tea and blues rest on sheets over night, letting the stars and incoming morning sun paint. Wooyoung let himself remember that feeling. He harnessed it in like pulling a dancing petal from the sky and swallowing it whole_

“It’s a long story.”

“We have time.”

 _We_. _That sounds nice_.

So, he told him. He told him of broken canvases, broken boys, sun dipped flowers, ceramic lockers, and the quiet hum of the world around him. And if Wooyoung ever had a reason to look up at the sky, he thinks San would be a pretty good reason.

San holds him gently.

“I would have been your friend. I would have walked you home every day. I would have held your hand and ate lunch with you. I would have fought every single one of them if that was what it took. You don’t ever have to be alone and you don’t ever, ever, have to listen to the quiet again. I’ll never shut up if that’s what you want. You are my everything. I would pick up your painting and ask you to make one just for me. My boy with a star."

“Would you have even given me a second glance?” Wooyoung asked, humoring him, tears now slowly falling from his cheeks and back down to the earth.

“I would have spared the second glance and gave you every first, Wooyoung.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


On the walk home, Wooyoung gave himself the liberty of looking up. 

He thinks of San, growing up with his hair falling into place like dominoes, gentle touches from his mother that told him to look up at the sky, brushing cheeks and hair behind his ears that he loved to kiss. San grew up kind and loved, with flowers as neighbors and dandelions as wishes that always took the time to pause the world for him. He thinks of his San, a beautiful enigma that no one ever found the rights words for. 

He looked up at the sky filled with every wonder imaginable and he wondered why he never thought to paint it. He let himself sit in it, let himself think that this was a moment in time, that the world allowed him this _moment,_ because San was with him.

He closed his eyes and he began to paint.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I want milf sunmi as my therapist :/
> 
> Leave a kudos and comment if you enjoyed- if not, that’s okay too
> 
> follow me on twitter and cry @wooyoungies


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